


Ashes, ashes

by Frostii1031



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ben is a Good Brother, Canon Compliant, Diego is a Good Brother, Gen, Ghosts, Heroes & Heroines, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus is a good brother, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Time Travel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, klaus is overwhelmed, vanya deserved better, vanya is lesbian sorry i dont make the rules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-06 07:19:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17935295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostii1031/pseuds/Frostii1031
Summary: After Five saves the family from a fiery death, Klaus finds himself the only one with any memory of future events. Alone and weak, he is determined not to let the apocalypse come to pass. No matter what.(along the way, he learns how to cope with trauma, play with ghosts, and that maybe his siblings actually do care about him)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love Umbrella Academy!! Klaus's character spoke to me on a *spiritual* level pff  
> So sorry buddy but anyone I like gets hurt its just the way things go

The world ended in eight days. For Klaus, it ended when his first brother disappeared. Then again when his second appeared transparent by his side.

Amidst all the chaos of the apocalypse, seeing Five once more and finally summoning Ben was a high Klaus had never felt before. His brother’s ghost had been haunting him since the day the boy had died, heavy stares and empty smiles. For five years Ben had been following him around, a shadow over Klaus that only could see. A curse to remind him of just how horrifically he had failed his brother in life.

A few times Klaus had snapped at him; so angry that his brother was dead and yet there he was, nagging at him like he was alive. (So angry that Ben was strong enough to reach through the fog of his drugged-out senses when no other haunt could; when all he wanted was to forget the pain of his brother’s death.)

Fueled by whatever poisonous high he had been chasing, Klaus would push his brother’s simmering essence out of reality with energy reserves he had usually never bothered to reach into before. (Had always been too scared to reach into before, too dulled by his momentary smoked release to bother acknowledging the looming pit inside him. How it reached back for him.)

Ben would disappear, and Klaus could breathe with relief for the few seconds before he realized with horror what he had done. He had erased his brother, his dead brother, his best friend. Then he would double over, every time, with sobs crowding in his throat and static in his hands. He would fall to his knees and suddenly Ben would be there to sigh at him once more. To use small words to comfort his disastrous mess of a brother and to assure him that no he wasn’t mad.

He’s not sure how Ben managed to make his way back to him during those times, would never even speak of his outbursts after the fact, but he was so grateful for his brother.

Ben was always there for Klaus, even when his other siblings never believed in him.

 

The first night that Ben had appeared, weary and thin and pale in ways only ghosts could be; Klaus had shook his head. He cried and screamed and shook because no, no that couldn’t be Ben. His brother, not his brother. Ben couldn’t be dead, and he certainly couldn’t have been that restless and fueled in life to come back.

Ben hadn’t said anything, still too disconnected with reality to make sense of the waking world. Instead he stood there, in the dark corner of Klaus’s cheap bedroom with hollow eyes watching events not current. Klaus had enough experience with new haunts to know Ben was watching his death, over and over and over again.

Klaus had buried his face in his knees, nausea gripping tight at his insides, and fumbled blindly for his phone. He couldn’t be here alone with his dead brother.

Ben had died just a few nights before, but no one knew what killed him. When he was found, it wasn’t by family. Instead, it had been his landlord, an ugly old hag who had come to complain of the stench emitting from the boy’s apartment.

The coroner’s report said overdose, but Klaus had never known Ben to pop pills. His mind told him it was intentional, but his heart pushed it away. Not his brother.

The phone was old, and cheap. The light bouncing off the screen made his head ache. He called the first sibling to pop into his mind, the only other brother he was even remotely close to as he was to Ben.

“Klaus?” Diego’s voice asked.

Klaus laughed, choked on relief. “Hey, man. I need. I need a favor.” He stuttered.

Diego sighed, a burst of static on his shitty phone. “Man, it’s almost three in the morning, can’t it wait till the sun is up?”

Klaus winced, not having known it was that early.

“Please,” he whispered. His voice cracked. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone with his brother’s ghost.

Diego was silent, and when he sighed once more relief washed over Klaus like a wave.

“Fine.”

“Thank you, Diego. Thank you,” He sobbed, so relieved.

“Yeah, yeah. What’s even going on with you, anyways?” He muttered.

Klaus bit his lip, knowing that his powers had always been a hit or miss with his siblings. They knew he could see ghosts, but for some reason they all thought he had to undergo some weird ritual to summon them. They thought he searched for the haunts, instead of the bitter reality of the haunts chasing him.

(He had told his siblings one time, when they were oh so young, that the several nannies that had gone missing were watching them. That they talked to him. His brothers and sister had rolled their eyes and dismissed him. Told him that jokes of such a nature weren’t funny, that it was rude to wish someone dead the way he had. Seven had watched with wide eyes and said nothing, as she always did before her illness.)

“It’s… it’s Ben.” He whispered, choosing to trust his brother. He closed his eyes, digging his face further into his boney knees. “He’s here. With me.”

He could feel Diego’s disbelief over the phone. The previous sounds of the other man getting ready to visit Klaus had stopped, replaced with a daunting silence that made Klaus whimper.

“Please, Diego-“

“You’re high again.” Number Two cut him off. His voice was sharp. “Dammit, Klaus.” He growled. “Ben is fresh in his grave and you’re making jokes?” He sounded hurt, and Klaus felt the pit in his stomach devour him.

“No, no, no. Diego, please. I’m not high. Well, I am. But I’m not joking! He’s here, he’s here. He’s here and he won’t leave and I’m so scared, please Diego-“ He rambled. His words flew from his lips like they had a mind of their own, picking up the shovel and digging his grave for him. Diego hadn’t said anything, and panic made him speak faster, an edge of hysteria tinting his words.

“Please-“ But the click of the phone cut him off. Number Two had hung up on him. Had left him.

He clutched the phone, fingers licked by static and turning a shallow shade of white as he stared at the screen. Diego had hung up on him. He brought the phone to his lips, breaths puffing out in short bursts.

He could call the others, but they would probably do the same thing as Diego. He could call Vanya, but the instant burst of hate that bubbled inside him, remnants of the girl’s horrid description of him in her book, held him back. She would listen to him, let him stay. But he couldn’t face her after what she done to him, to all of them. Even Ben.

He moaned, low and painful. He threw the phone at the wall, watched as it cracked and splintered when it hit the ground. Ben was still in the corner of his vision, and he would stay there for years.

 

Summoning Ben, in front of all his siblings, in front of the ones who had thought him cruel and crazy for his ‘antics’; it felt amazing. The blue that stained his fingertips and shone around his brother burned so bright he had to squint around his smile.

All around him was death and chaos and the burn of their sister’s decent to vengeance but all he could focus on was the blue. He wasn’t crazy, he wasn’t weak. He could bring his brother forward, could breathe into him enough life to make him corporeal. Just for a second.

If he could bring back Ben, he could bring back Dave.

He could, but not now. They were running to their sister, a hopeless attempt to stop her mission of destruction. But she was too strong, and Klaus honestly didn’t know why he had even tried. His strengths had never lied in one on one fisticuffs. It was hopeless, but what else could they do.

His sister’s power was immense, and terrifying. Her eyes held no love for them, and neither did the crescendo of her essence. She held them in the air, watched as they writhed and screamed. She was sucking out their life force, devouring them from the inside. Ben’s apparition next to him started to fizzle and pop before snapping out of focus in a burst of white behind his eyelids.

His mind was fuzzy, his eyes barely able to process around the white emitting from Vanya. She was so bright, too bright, a mask for the darkness in her heart.

He saw Allison raise a gun to the back of her sister’s head, watched with something less than apathy as Vanya squeezed the life out his chest. He loved his sister, but her death at this point would be nothing less than a blessing. For him and for society and apparently, for the apocalypse.

Allison was crying, and Vanya still hadn’t noticed her, too caught up in her sadistic pleasure. The firing of the gun was a surprise and a relief, Klaus hadn’t been sure Allison could do it. To kill the girl who had shown no hesitation in doing the same to her, to her other siblings.

Oh, but Allison hadn’t done it, had she? Vanya screamed, and the force of her power burst from her chest in a beam headed straight to the moon.

The silence after was deafening.

Klaus had fallen to his knees, chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath, to readjust to the feeling of his life force residing where it belonged. Around him, his siblings celebrated. Above him, the moon split into pieces.

It was raining, moon dust and debris dropping into the earth’s atmosphere graceful and slow like morning dew. Dave’s tags were warm between his touch, gripped tight in lost hope so sharp it stung like a knife between his ribs.

Then Five was screaming, telling them to trust him. That he could save them, he thinks.

They had little else to trust, at that point.

So they gathered around their brother, picked up Seven with hollow arms. Ben grabbed his shoulder, and Klaus was surprised to find that his touch was true. Ben smiled, and Klaus closed his eyes.

Five’s face was pinched in the effort of summoning up the reserves of his energy. He had never made a jump like this, never one so large with so many or so important. Their lives were hanging in the balance, the world. Klaus held on tight, hand in hand with his siblings as the fire around them grew closer.

Their surroundings started to morph, twisting and blurring together in a mess of times and occurrences, lives lived and lost. Yet still the fire grew closer, grew hotter.  
It enveloped them in a haze of red and white, so hot next to his shine of blue.

His family screamed, Ben was but a shadow behind him so faint was his presence, but Klaus just kept his eyes shut, his teeth grit. Iron sparked his tongue, stained his lips. When nothing but silence remained, he opened his eyes and everything was black and white and shades of gray.

Young eyes, old eyes, they looked into Klaus just before he was pulled away. Five’s power, chased by flames, snapped at Klaus and grabbed him from the depths of below. Of above?

His siblings were still silent, and Klaus’s vision was but a blur filled with washes of color and movement unable to be focused upon.

They had somehow fallen to the ground, but he was still holding on to his brothers’ hands. One at his left and Two at his right. Their grip was slack, held upon by his own desperate hands. They were cold, a startling contrast to the boiling air. Slowly, his vision began to focus, the air that he hadn’t noticed was missing filled his lungs.

Ben was still behind him, faint.

His siblings were pale, and young. They all looked the same as Five did, including himself he realized with a start. He was shorter now, still taller than most of his family but smaller than he remembered. His brothers and sisters jolted, all of them breathing in a unified gasp, including Ben from behind him. He assumed that they were feeling the same as he had moments before, that the flames and the shock of Five’s power had rendered them all breathless.

Glancing around them while his siblings fumbled, he noticed with relief that the auditorium was in tact, the architecture gleaming and new. The smile that grew on his lips was hard to contain. They had done it.

But instead of cheer and triumph at their feat, his siblings were crumpled to the ground in a measure of panic and pure confusion. His grin caught on his teeth, whimpered until he looked just as distraught as the others.

They didn’t remember.

He looked desperately to Five, hoping to find solace in him at least, but the boy was just the same. He sat on his behind, eyes wide and young and innocent in a way that Klaus almost couldn’t remember them ever being. He didn’t just not remember the future they all came from, Five didn’t remember his own past. His apocalypse.

Klaus’s lungs grew tight, and he stuttered out painful breaths. This couldn’t be happening. How could they not remember? How come he could?

A hand gripped his shoulder, and he jumped so hard the appendage was jostled off. He whirled around to see Ben staring at him with wide eyes. He was young, and didn’t remember death. Didn’t remember following Klaus around for five years. He was alive.

Tears burned as they traced down burnt cheeks. He turned and let himself collapse in his brother’s arms. Ben shouted in surprise, but his arms were steady around his shoulders.

“Klaus?” He asked. His voice was high.

Another pair of hands joined Ben’s, larger. “Klaus, are you alright?” Diego joined. The boy was crouched next to the other two, jaw clenched as he took in their surroundings, in his brother who was sat collapsed on the ground.

Klaus couldn’t answer, just held on tighter to his brother. Five’s plan worked, and they were all safe. They were alive but only at the cost of Klaus being alone.

He was stuck once more as the odd man out. Forced to be the one with the weight of the apocalypse on his shoulders. He couldn’t do it, he wasn’t Five; strong or brave or with a plan. He was just Number Four, weak and weird. An afterthought compared to the likes of his siblings.

He couldn’t do it.

“Klaus?”

He stilled, fingers growing weak in their hold on Ben’s jacket. Slowly, he turned his head. Fearing what he would see.

Vanya started at him. Her eyes were brown. She was drowning in her performance suit, her hair was long.

Klaus realized suddenly that it didn’t matter who he was. He had to do this. Vanya’s brown eyes told him so. He had no other choice. There were only so many times you could go back in time to fix the end of the world and he had the feeling that this was the end all be all.

He was their last hope.

He stared at his sister a moment more before closing his eyes. Tears were still streaming silently down his face, leaving tracks through the dirt and ash. He let go of Ben, whose wide eyes were still watching him concernedly.

“I’m okay,” He whispered, and his siblings said nothing, mouths twisted in disbelief. He smiled wanly, sharp teeth catching on his chapped lips, “I’m okay.”

Diego caught his wrists and pulled him to his feet, hand lingering on his shoulder as though scared to let go. The boy furrowed his brow and looked to the others. “What’s even happened, anyways?” He questioned. The others looked between themselves uncomfortably and Klaus swallowed.

He couldn’t tell them. They would never take him seriously, they never have all these years. He would save them, and he would have to do it alone.

Luther heaved a great sigh, shaking his head in exhaustion. “I’m not sure. But we should get back to Father.”

Diego bristled, “We need to figure out what happened to us, Luther. We can’t just walk away.” He spat. Already their relationship was so strained. Klaus’s head ached.

“Father can help us, Diego. We can’t find out what happened on our own.” Number Two didn’t say anything, but that might as well have been an agreement.

Allison finally spoke up, “He’s bound to be looking for us by now anyways.” She pointed out, looking up to the grand window above them. Through the glass, shimmering spots of white shone down upon them, bright against their backdrop of black. They, as children, were never allowed out after dark.

No one said anything, but the unease of having to face their father after inadvertently crossing his rules laid heavy upon the group. They made their unsteady way out of the theatre, Five taking the lead. He blinked ahead, intent on searching for unseen threats before his siblings caught up.

Having found none, as Klaus suspected he would, Five gave a heavy nod and motioned for the others to follow. So they did, and together they entered the darkened streets.

 

The walk home was quiet.

Klaus walked between Ben and Vanya. One hand had found its way back into Ben’s, the novelty of his physical presence still hadn’t faded away just yet. Ben had let it happen without a word, likely wanting comfort as much as he; albeit for different reasons.

Vanya was mute beside him, and Klaus said nothing to promote her any change. He wanted to help her, wanted to stop whatever went so foul in their family from happening before it began. But he didn’t know where to begin, with her or himself. He still could barely look at her without his stomach turning queasily, his head faint and his fingers twisting to summon sparks of blue. So instead, he was unusually silent the whole way home. Lost in thought.

He didn’t want to do this alone, had no idea where he would even begin. But he couldn’t tell his siblings without proof to get them to believe him. They had always been reluctant to trust him even with proof.

Unease curled in his stomach when he narrowed down his only option. Father.

As much as he hated the old bastard, during his death walk he had told Klaus that his mission in life had been to stop the apocalypse. He was the only other one currently alive to know what Klaus was afraid of. The only one who might take him seriously when he started spreading tales of destruction. Frustration burned in his belly. He hated their father; for everything he’s done, not just to him.

Vanya was a dark cloud in the corner of his vision, a reminder that he couldn’t screw this up. Honestly, he kind of hated her as well. It was hard not to, she had literally tried to kill all life on earth. Hadn’t even hesitated to strike him down.

He didn’t know when she developed these powers, didn’t know what pushed her to the edge, but he would give his best to save her. He hated her, but he loved her, too. She was his sister. He wouldn’t let her spiral into madness once more.

Their house was lit and visible from their place down the street. A looming glance into their harsh future, a painful glimpse back into his ashy past. He stole a breath before turning to his sister.

“Vanya.” He whispered, a rush of syllables before he could change his mind or loose his nerve. Her eyes shot to his, startled. He didn’t much speak to her, having preferred the company of Ben or Allison much more in his youth.  
Biting his lip, he checked to make sure no one else was listening. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

She leaned forward, eyes concerned. “What is it?” She whispered back.

Klaus shook his head. “Tomorrow.”

Vanya looked confused, but she nodded anyways. Having spoke to her brother, her steps seemed more concrete, her eyes brighter. Where had she gone before he spoke?

He would tell their father of his travels through time. Warn him of the path he had started down and seek advice from his misguided wisdom. But he knew the man wouldn’t want to involve Vanya, knew that her powers had been hidden so long for a reason.

Vanya can not be allowed to simmer that long in agony a second time. Klaus would help her learn herself and teach her the best he could to control her anger. Which, admittedly, might not be much. But it would be enough.

He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. As he followed his siblings, he silently begged Vanya not to betray his trust. He just wanted everyone to live.


	2. Chapter 2

Luther knocked on the iron door; none of them had a key to their own home thanks to Father’s innate distrust of his children. It was silent for a moment, the only noise coming from the lonely street and from Klaus’s own faint sniffling.

Diego had replaced Vanya at his side, and when Pogo opened the door, Klaus had been subtly placed behind the other boy’s back. Bewildered, Klaus made to peek around him, but Diego just glared at him. Biting his lip, Klaus let the others handle their explanation for being out so late. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Pogo asked, voice a low baritone. He glanced quickly between the children and then behind himself, probably looking for their father. 

“Pogo,” Allison began, holding her hands in front of her innocently. But the monkey just held a giant hand up, silencing the girl. 

“Come in,” He motioned, “Before you catch your death to this chill.” The others entered the house quickly, but Klaus dragged behind. He was staring at Pogo, green eyes stretched wide as they could go. The reality of the situation was hitting him, again. The last he had heard of Pogo, Vanya had impaled him on the deer head in the main room. Followed shortly after by his Mother’s crushing death. 

Oh God, Mother. 

Mother was still alive. 

Tears welled in his eyes, and he dropped his gaze to the ground. He stepped to follow his siblings inside, but Pogo grabbed his arm. 

Klaus turned, surprised. “What’s happened, Klaus?” Pogo demanded. His eyes weren’t the warm hazel that his memory pertained. Instead he was cold, frown etched into his face as he looked at the scrawniest of the seven children. 

“Wha-“ He mumbled, caught off balance as the animal pulled him back down the steps. He stumbled with a loud gasp, knobby arms flying out desperately to grab the railing. Instead, they were caught by warm hands. Diego’s.

The boy looked furious as he helped Klaus to his feet. 

“What the hell, Pogo? We were gonna tell you when we were inside!” He yelled, pushing his brother inside the mansion. The monkey looked embarrassed, clutching his cane close to his chest. 

“I had only meant-“ He began, before sighing heavily and shaking his head. “Never mind.  Come along.” He brushed past the two with a bump to Klaus’s shoulder. 

“You okay?” Two growled, still glaring in the direction of the humanoid. Klaus nodded shakily. He didn’t know what he had done to upset the butler, but it had scared him. He had never enjoyed getting on Pogo’s bad side, not even as an adult. Some people were fun to rile up, but the monkey always managed to make him feel so guilty, sometimes even scared. Along with everything else in this old house, he supposed. 

“Thanks Diego,” He mumbled. 

Diego nodded and gently guided Klaus inside. He had been protective of Klaus since his breakdown in the auditorium, but honestly, Klaus didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he got to interact with his brother this way.  
  
The other five children were strewn about the main room, Allison and Vanya close on the couch while Luther paced and Ben hovered near the doorway. Five was standing behind his sisters, knuckle in his teeth as he processed their evening. His brow was pinched, and Klaus longed to crack a joke and ease his worries. He hated his family looking so upset. (Obviously, it’s been a long few years for him.) But his nerves were too frazzled right now to even attempt at cracking a smile. 

Pogo stood to the side,  hunched over in what must have been disappointment. Klaus followed Diego as he came to stand next to Luther. Shouldered between his two brothers, Klaus felt safer than he had in days. (Eight days, exactly.) 

“Well?” Pogo sighed. He looked tired. Klaus didn’t blame him, it must have been well after midnight. His siblings shared heavy looks, none seeming to know how to explain their situation. Klaus kept his mouth shut, he didn’t want to take part in this discussion. 

“We woke up in the auditorium down town about half an hour ago. We came straight back here.” Five said, tone matter-of-fact. Pogo’s brow jumped. 

“Woke up there?” He asked. 

Allison nodded, raising from her seat on the couch to approach the short monkey. “Yes. I distinctly remember falling asleep last night in my bed.” She shrugged, “Next thing I knew I was waking up on the floor of that fancy theater.” 

Pogo stroked his chin in thought, eyes cast low to the ground. He hummed, “That is… peculiar.” 

Five scoffed. 

“What should we tell Father?” Luther piped up, ever the loyal one. 

The butler shook his head, “Nothing, for now.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s the middle of the night, Number One. This conversation can be delayed until morning.” 

Luther dipped his head, and Pogo sent them all one last despairing glance before he made his way up the creaky steps. Presumably back to the sleep they had oh so rudely interrupted.

Vanya was the first to speak in his absence. “Do you think we could have been taken during the night?” Her voice was small.

“As opposed to what? Sleepwalking?” Five scoffed, and crossed his shoulders in a way that looked less annoyed at their situation and more like he was drawing comfort from the action.

Vanya blushed and averted her eyes. “Well,” She trailed off.

“If we were taken, then we need to know by who. And how. And Why.” Five growled. “We are completely out of our depth!” The boy ranted, looking more stressed by the word.

Klaus coughed, uncomfortable with the panic that was steadily growing in the room but unwilling to reveal what he knew. His silence weighed on him like an anvil; tugging on his breastbone and pushing on his heart.

“Maybe we should just focus on the who for now, yeah?” He piped up, breathless. Diego nodded silently by his side.

“How did they even get to us inside the house? Father keeps this place locked tighter than Fort Knox.” Ben questioned. He was still by the doorway, hiding in the dark corner of the room like he expected someone to burst in at any second. Klaus felt his chest tighten.

“Either they stole a key or someone let them in.” Luther growled.

“Orrr, they broke a window. Jesus, Luther.” Allison groaned. Luther squirmed, embarrassed that he had seemingly jumped to conclusions against his own family (again, Klaus’s mind supplied). The girl sighed, running a hand through her hair. It was dark, a shade of brown that she hadn’t indulged in years. Not since she became famous.

“Have any of you noticed that we aren’t in our pajamas? And that our clothes don’t exactly fit us?” Diego finally spoke up, bringing up the one fact that Klaus had hoped they would avoid.

He didn’t need them paranoid over every little thing, especially when they wouldn’t accept the only answers that Klaus could provide. (Not that any of them had exactly looked to him for an explanation so far. Well, except for Pogo, oddly enough.)

“Except for me.” Five’s voice was low. Klaus imagined that he must be confused. “But I’m not in my pajamas, either. Just our uniform.”

“If they had time to get your uniform from your closet, why didn’t they grab ours as well? Why just throw us in some random clothes?” Vanya asked.

His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, Klaus was vaguely positive he was on the verge of fainting. Or throwing up. He needed to lie down. He couldn’t deal with any of this right now. He couldn’t.

Not with Vanya standing so close (eyes glinting white by the overhead lights), or with Ben so far away, or with Dave’s dog tags burning a hole into his sternum.

'God, he wished Dave was here.

Moaning softly, Klaus brought the heels of his palms to his eyes, digging in harshly in a vain attempt at getting the nightmares out of his periphery. He was walking in a nightmare. Slowly, he dropped to his knees, his lungs skipping and choking on breaths he couldn't quite suck in.

“Klaus?”

He felt Diego (or Luther? Probably not Luther.) kneel hastily by his side, familiar hands catching his shoulder with a firm shake. He let his body follow the movement lifelessly, too distracted by the burning in his esophagus.

“Klaus! Klaus, you need to breathe.” Diego’s voice was weak behind the static in his ears. Far away. “Breathe for me, Klaus.” His brother pleaded.

Hesitantly, Klaus sucked in a breath, coughing and sputtering around his collapsing lungs. It felt like he was breathing in ash. Everything around him was on fire. Has been on fire since he opened damaged eyes into the past.

“That’s it. Keep breathing for me, you’re doing good.”

Diego was in front of him, Ben wide-eyed over his shoulder. Allison was crying, holding onto a pale Vanya. Five was silent, pacing once more around the room even as his eyes trailed Klaus’s heaving form. Luther had fallen to the couch behind him, staring down at the floor.

His breaths were stronger, but his hands still shook and stung with pins and needles up to his elbows. Slowly, he let his fingers drag down his face, wincing when they pulled against the raw scratches over his brow bone, down to his cheeks. His vision was watery and it took him a moment to process Diego’s frowning face in front of his own.

“I think.” He sputtered, “I think I need to lie down.” He nodded to himself, deliriously. “Yes, laying down sounds quite nice.”

“Maybe you should have Mother take a look at you, Klaus.” Allison whispered, voice soft. “This is twice you’ve had an episode in less than an hour.” Ben nodded at him, but Klaus only shook his head.

“No, no. I’m fine.”

“You said that earlier.” Luther pointed out.

“Yeah, well. Apparently someone came and stole us in our sleep and no one in the house even knew about it so forgive me if I’m a little stressed!” He barked (the first words to come to mind, the best distraction he could think of to lie), a bit more aggressively than he had meant to. His family was quiet, so he took the moment to pull away from Diego’s grasp and stumble to the steps.

 

He barely made it to his room, collapsing against the door as he pulled it closed behind him. Immediately, he began clawing at his clothes. His military vest fell to the floor in a soft heap, his tank following shortly thereafter. Shoes bucked to the opposite side of the room carelessly. His pants were already loose around his waist, his older half’s height unforgiving in his choice of wardrobe. They fell quickly and he stumbled to the mirror.

Naked, bare of all but Dave’s tags, he looked even worse. His makeup had survived the blast to the past, but only barely. His eyeshadow was beyond his usual smudge. Now it cast streaks of black under his eyes and up to his brow bone; making him look emaciated and frail in this younger form. His eyeliner had streaked from his tears, leaving trails of grunge down his cheeks.

Cheeks which had been scalded from the flames of Vanya’s meteors. Burnt and red and too sensitive to the harsh nail marks running across them.

In his desperation earlier, (desperate to be blind, to close his eyes and see something else, _anything_ other than the white white white-) he had clawed up half of his face. Starting from the dip between his eyelids and his brow, extending through his eyes and down to just above his lips. The lines bled, a slow pulse of red that smeared down his cheeks. His eyelids stung with every blink, nothing but his tears to cool the burn.

God, not to mention how he looked to begin with. Younger him (what was he, even? Thirteen?) was thin, just as thin as he was used to but without the height to explain it. His skin was stretched pale across his bones, his knuckles like mountains against the flesh of his hands. His face was stupidly boyish, his hair the same crop that his father forced upon all of his children.

He hated it.

It had taken a lot to get to where he was in the future. A lot of self exploration and sleepless nights as he tried to figure out what it was about himself that made him _sick._ The wardrobe hidden behind the mirror’s door was packed full of nothing but trousers and shorts and dress shirts. Things that were _fine_ but so stifling. He’d wear them and feel as though he were choking.

(He would sneak into Allison’s room and smile as he twirled in her pretty dresses. Laugh as he figured out the tribulations that came with makeup. Dump her scarves and blouses onto his thin body and _breathe._ )

He looked at the boy in the mirror and saw the carbon copy that his father demanded of him. He looked just like his brothers, just like any rich boy out on the streets. He looked like everybody, and nobody. He didn’t look like Klaus. He looked like Number Four.

He- oh.

His tattoos were gone.

Biting his lip to stifle the sob building in his throat, Klaus gripped Dave’s tags between both hands. Raised them to his lips like a prayer.

Dave had known who he was. Had never even needed Klaus to explain to him what went through his jumbled mind. He had just _known._

He couldn’t do this alone.

He couldn’t do this alone, and he wasn’t going to. He had summoned Ben. Finally, after years of struggle and mishap and accidents, Klaus had been able to focus on his powers and make them work.

Klaus’s powers didn’t often like to work for him. They would wiggle and squirm out from between his fingers, drip from his essence like a wet sponge instead of pulsed through his veins. He would watch his siblings, so tuned into who they were and how they worked and he would hate the powers he had been born (cursed) with.

All they ever did was yell in his ears, haunt his nightmares, drown his waking world in static images of death and torture and endless agony. But finally, he had managed to wrangle them into something useful.

He had pulled his brother from the depths of the spiritual plane and into the physical. Had filled his projection of self with a breath of life strong enough to become true. Ben had lived once more and it was because of him.

And he would do it again. But not with Ben.

 

He let the tags drop against his chest, hands falling lifelessly to his sides.

His reflection was staring at him through the mirror; wisps of gray twirled around his visage. The voices that had been a constant of his childhood had begun to hum in the background of his senses, their pale fingers clasped at his skin. He knew that by morning the full front of his cursed powers would be bearing down on him, and he mourned for a hit. Anything to push away the death that followed him. (But he couldn't. Not if he wanted to get Dave back. And he was worth it. Worth so much more than Klaus could give.)

He sighed, morbidly resigned to his fate. Slowly, he grabbed his bathrobe from its place in his wardrobe that hadn’t moved all his life and wrapped it around himself.

He made his way down the hallway in silence. Halfway there, he caught eyes with Vanya. She had been about to shut her bedroom door, but stopped when she saw him.

With wide eyes, she stared at him.

Weakly, Klaus dragged his eyes away and walked past her without a second glance. Numb.

 

The water was warm, and it washed away the dust and ash from the day’s endless perill. He let himself relax under the spray, tilt his head up and close his eyes and just breathe.

It was quiet in the past.

He hadn’t had a moment’s rest since the day Five had appeared in the garden. His trip into Vietnam had been one casualty after another, a constant brigade of trauma and pains and apathy toward not only their enemy but to their own fallen comrades.

Taking a hot shower, in the wake of the longest eight days of his life, it felt like a joke.

 

Maybe it was.

 

When he finally fell asleep on that endless night, he dreamed of his past.

The earliest thing he could remember was the golden sun, a hand carved crib and a German melody. He remembers reaching for his mother, hands so tiny and weak, the sun streaming through his fingers like he himself had cast the light. He had reached for her, but instead of brown hair and a kind smile, he had gotten pale and decay and blood. So much blood. 

The melody was humming in the background, pouring out of the monster’s lifeless lips in a taunt of his mother’s voice. The ghost was a woman, a bullet carved between her green eyes. His mother, no. The ghost. She had brown hair, and when the sun cast itself upon her skin she folded and decayed into dust; drawn out by the light.   

When she had disappeared, he cried.   

He was alone for two days before Sir Hargreeves came to collect him for the first time. When he reached for the babe, his hands cut through the cold sunlight like a knife. It reflected off his pale skin and burned into the child’s eyes.  


He would never forget the face of his mother, the ghost. Or the frown etched into curled lips as his new father picked him up for the first time. For the last time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (enter mr monocle man from stage right)

Coming out of the dream was like stepping into a nightmare.

Instead of beams of golden light, hummed melodies or kind green eyes, (or blood, and ghosts, and him) there was cold. Even with the blankets pulled to his shoulders, the cold seeped into him. His childhood bedroom was dark, the curtains pulled tight across the window. The harsh scent of dust and weed and his shitty thirteen year old cologne hovered in the air.

His eyes were still closed, protected under his cocoon of covers like he was a child, an actual child. Already, he could hear the moans of the dead.

They were calling his name, over and over and over.

‘Klaus.’

‘Klaus, Klaus, Klaus-’

‘Klaus!’

So loud, so cold. Their words pulled tight across pale lips. Seethed through dull teeth and blood soaked lips. So many deaths, so many different states of decay. The more they shouted, the more the taste of rot flooded his mouth, the scent of iron tangy and sweet.

He whimpered, and tucked his knees to his chest, hands scrabbling over his ears to hush them out. It was no use, he knew this. Their voices haunted him from the inside out. Cutting his ears off wouldn’t be enough to drown out their call.

He needed a hit. He couldn’t do this. It’s been so long since he’s had to deal with the ghosts. (Actually, he dealt with them the entire time he was stuck in Vietnam, outnumbered and overwhelming, but Dave had been there. Dave had helped him. He hadn’t felt the burden of his curse as strong when Dave was there to even out the tide.)

He craved silence, but he needed his powers more. Sober, he could use them to his fullest ability. And sadly, he couldn’t be high while sober. A sob tightened his throat. God, he couldn’t do this.

He let himself hide in bed for a few short minutes more before dragging himself out. Peeking above the blankets, he quickly shut his eyes in remorse. All around him were the dead. Young and old, familiar and new. They circled his bed like a pack of hungry dogs. Their eyes pale and glossed, their hands twitching at their sides as they reached for him.

Some were more gruesome than others, and he desperately avoided looking at the nannies he recognized from hazzy childhood memories (their necks snapped like a broken doll).

The buzz of their voices clouded his mind even as he pushed past them, their formless bodies crumpling to shimmers of shade as he passed through them. He fumbled in his wardrobe, pulling out the standard uniform of Umbrella Academy.

He threw it on, leaving the top buttons of his dress shirt undone, the sweater loose and wrinkled (even when it was pressed immaculately and smooth in the closet just moments before). He pulled his socks on and forewent the shoes, rebellion at its finest.

He stopped by the mirror, and missed his characteristic eyeshadow with a throb of his heart. Even if he had the courage to steal some from Allison, not even the girls had been allowed to wear makeup until they were at least sixteen. (Not to mention what Father would do to him, if he saw him like that.)

Ignoring the ghosts with downward eyes, he racked his memories and went about the room, collecting all of the substances his thirteen year old self had managed to stow away. It wasn’t much, just a few grams of weed and some whiskey swiped from Father’s cabinets. (Klaus hadn’t gotten into the harder stuff until he was fourteen, he remembered. Vaguely.)

He stuffed the baggie of green in his pockets and the whiskey up his shirt, sticking out awkwardly and obviously on his skinny frame. He creeped out of his room, looking down the hall suspiciously before dashing to the bathroom. He slammed the door shut behind him, and it echoed down the empty hall louder than Klaus had expected.

He winced, and pawed the weed from his pockets. Bouncing it in his hands, he smiled sadly before dropping its contents in the toilet.

“So long, old friend.” He whispered, and flushed it all away.

He did the same for the whiskey, but looked at the bottle let over in dawning realization that he couldn’t just flush the glass away, could he?

Slapping his forehead, he cursed at himself. Looking around the small room desperately, Klaus jumped over to the window. He pulled the screen open, and glanced down below.

The dank alleyway was empty and quiet, so he decided fuck it and threw the bottle.

In his defense, he had aimed for the garbage bin. Yet when the glass bottle shattered on the brick wall in a symphony of yowling cats and the yell from the homeless man he hadn’t seen but woken up all the same, Klaus slapped his hands to his mouth and laughed in astonishment.

The raggedy man looked up, shaking his fist at the boy. “Fuckin’ Hargreeves!” He barked.

Klaus waved apologetically, still giggling at the chaos he had accidentally created.

The bathroom door behind him slammed open, and Klaus jumped, banging his head on the window frame as he frantically pulled himself back inside.

“Klaus? What the hell are you doing?” Luther.

“Shit,” Klaus hissed, rubbing his head. He glared at his brother, crossing his arms defensively. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“The door was unlocked.” Luther defended.

“It doesn’t have a lock!” Klaus yelled. (Privacy does not exist in Sir Hargreeves’s world.)

“Whatever, I heard a crash. Are you ok?”

Klaus pursed his lips. “Yeah.”

Luther narrowed his eyes. “What did you do.” He demanded.

“Wha- Nothing! I didn’t do anything!” He stammered.

“Sure. Why don’t you move away from the window, then.”

“I rather like the window, actually.”

Luther rolled his eyes and pushed the scrawny boy out of his way, leaning out the open window to no doubt see the angry homeless man still cursing about the shattered bottle.

Luther sighed, and gave Klaus a disappointed glance. “Where did you even get a glass bottle from, Klaus?” He sounded resigned.

A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth, “Found it.”

Luther rolled his eyes, and gave the other boy a light shove. “Leave old man Jones alone. He hates us all enough as it is.” Klaus laughed, and was relieved to see Luther do the same. He had forgotten that his brother hadn’t always been such a hard ass.

“No promises.”

He scampered out of the restroom, leaving Luther behind to shake his head affectionately.

The smell of eggs and bacon wafted throughout the house, and Klaus’s mouth began to water. He wanted nothing more to give his Mother a hug, but knew that he had important business to do before he could.

Father.

He needed to talk to him before the others came to him about the events of last night. He needed to confess to him just what the hell is going on. As much as he hated the bastard, he was still his father, and he couldn’t do this all alone.

(He knew that he shouldn’t trust the man to help him, that leaving him to flounder alone was exactly the type of sick thing his Father would enact as a ‘lesson’; but he couldn’t help it. In the future, his father was dead. And as much as he honestly didn’t care, some part of him did. It hurt, seeing the headlines and knowing that the last interaction he had with the man who raised him was Klaus walking out. And now he was back, and his Father was there, and he so desperately wanted his help. He wanted to be able to fix them.)

Nerves twisted in his belly, and he slowed to a stop outside his Father’s office. He had never been inside the small room, only hovered in the doorway his whole life until the old man died. When he had stepped inside that one time, he had never felt so out of place.

He wasn’t allowed in that room, past or future.

Biting his lip, he knocked boney knuckles on the giant wooden door.

“I’m busy, Pogo.” His Father called back, not bothering to open the door.

“It’s” He coughed. “It’s Number Four, Father.”

He shifted his weight nervously as silence enveloped him. He was just about to walk away in dejection when the door snapped open, and his father was there.

His face was wrinkled, he had been old since the beginning of time, it seemed. Gray eyes, cold, so cold, stared at him. Furrowed brows and straight shoulders.

“What is it.” He demanded, peering down his nose at the boy.

“I- I need to talk to you about something.”

“I’m listening, boy.”

His heart was hammering in his chest. God, why was he so nervous. Why was he always so nervous when he talked to his father, no matter how old Klaus got or how dead the man was?

“I need, I need your help. There was an accident. And now I’m stuck here. I mean, I’m stuck in the past. With you. And I don’t belong here, I mean, I do, but I don’t. I mean, something happened in the future and then the

Apocalypse happened, and then Five took us back and now they don’t remember anything. Only I do. And we came to stop the Apocalypse but now I’m alone and I don’t know what to do.”

It was a rush of words, an anxiety fueled mess of syllables and pauses and ramblings. Hargreeves’s brow was raised unimpressedly, silent.

“Um. Uh, I. In the future, you- you died, And um, I went to visit you. In the, spirit world? I guess. And when I got there you kind of like, implied that you knew this was all gonna happen. So I thought, maybe I’d come to you?” He trembled, fingers twisting in his sweater as his father gazed steadily down at him, his stare a physical weight on his chest, on his lungs.

“You?” He finally spoke. Klaus jolted, snapping his gaze back to his father.

The old man was still as stone. “Number Four, I doubt that you could ever even talk to a ghost, let alone traverse the death walk to visit one.” His breath was stuck in his throat, his fingers were numb. That wasn’t- that wasn’t true. He had. Maybe not on purpose, but-

Hargreeves shook his head. “You speak in tongues, boy. Five will never be ready for time travel, such a thing is not within his capabilities. And the apocalypse is but a fable, you should know this.”

“But-”

“Do not interrupt me,” Klaus’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth. “I will not tolerate you making up such obvious fiction for attention. If you wish to be praised, you need to get stronger.” He said, tone so even and smooth and calm. Like he wasn’t ripping out Klaus’s lungs, squeezing them with bloodied fists. (Golden light, green eyes- dust. Faded snippets of memories.)

“Your powers as of now are pathetic. What do you expect to accomplish, in this so called ‘apocalypse’ when all you do is run away from ghosts?” The man asked, and his monocle was shimmering in the morning light that beamed through the window. It cast half his face in shade, hallowed out his cheeks and carved his frown deeper than stone.

Klaus was numb. He was staring at his father, green eyes stretched wide. Jaw clenched, fingers tight in closed fists. His heart was beating so hard he could hear it over the whispers of forgotten haunts.

“If this apocalypse ever does come, we were doomed the day you set foot in its prevention. You are weak, Klaus. You write up fantasies to impress me, drown yourself in my whiskey as though it would save you. Sober up. And do not speak such fallacies ever again.”

Then, the door was shut, a soft click and a gust of wind.

His shoulders were shaking, tears dripping off his chin.

His father didn’t believe him. The only person in this fucking house who he thought he could turn to. In the future, Father had known. He had known for so long. Yet, just when Klaus needed him most, he was ignorant?

How could he be so stupid? To place his trust in the man that always beat him down? How could he even think of his Father raising a hand to help him? He was right, the world is doomed. Cursed to rely on Klaus’s innate inability to think for once in his life. If he could be so helplessly fooled by the one constant in his life, how could he be expected to save anyone?

What the hell was he supposed to do? His father was right. He is weak. He can’t-

He can’t-

A low pitched whine fought its way from his throat. Agony ripped his heart. Why was he the only one who remembered? Why did that little girl in the clouds hate him so fucking much? What did he do?

Why is he always alone?

 

“Klaus?”

Whispers, crawling against his neck. Familiar. They curled around his ears, floated through his mind. He didn’t react, so done with the world. He was still standing there, gazing unseeingly at the office door with misty eyes.

“Klaus are you okay?”

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his misery, sent jolts of adrenaline down his spine. He jumped, turning around faster than his lanky body was able to account for. He tripped on his own feet, stumbled back until the hand on his shoulder grabbed his arm and pulled him back up.

“Klaus!” Vanya yelled. She tugged at his arm, dragging him over to the balcony that overlooked the living room. She let him collapse onto the floor, and he slipped his legs between the rails to dangle in the open air. She followed him, letting her arm entwine comfortingly around his.

They sat in silence, minutes dripping by as slow as they ever were, allowing for Klaus’s heart to calm down. Yet it still beat haphazardly in his ribcage, thump thump thumping against his bones.

 

Finally, he gasped in a harsh breath. “I just, everytime I talk to him. I always feel like I’m slipping.” Vanya looked at him, brown eyes round and understanding. “I never know what to say. I feel so small.” He whispered, leaning his forehead on the bars. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his eyes were tired and red.

Vanya stayed silent.

Suddenly, she looked up. “What was it that you wanted to talk to me about, Klaus?” She asked.

Klaus bit his lip, hesitant.

His interaction with his father was like rubbing salt in his already gushing wounds. He had no one, so he would have to fight off the apocalypse alone. He looked at his sister, where better a place to start?

He heaved a sigh. The monster in his brain still found it hard to trust Vanya, hadn’t been able to take her word since she published her stupid novel. (He had thought they had a bond. An unspoken similarity that bound them together. But apparently not, if her written word was to be trusted.) He still hated her, a dark stain in his mind that he was ashamed to not care on casting light upon. But he loved her, so much. He loved all of his siblings.

He didn’t want her to hurt, and he especially didn’t want her to destroy humanity again.

“I think. I think Father’s wrong about you.” He said, rushed out before he could grow weak.

Vanya tilted her head. “Wrong?”

He nodded, slowly. He glanced at his hands, desperate for a story that Vanya would believe. “You know, you know how I can see ghosts?” Vanya nodded, brow pinched.

“Don’t you summon them?” She asked. (His siblings always thought he called for the ghosts, that they answered him and respected his wishes when he asked them to leave.)

“No. They come to me.” He bit his lip. Now wasn’t the time to go on a rant on how much she and their brothers and sister don’t understand about him.

“Sometimes, they talk to me.”

“And they told you… what exactly?”

“That you were like us.”

“Like… you?” She repeated, brow raised.

He nodded, and she smiled wistfully, bitterly. “Klaus, as much as I wish that were true, we both know I don’t have any powers.”  
“But, Vanya. I think you do! I think Father has been lying to you!”

“Why would he do that?” She asked, disbelieving.

“I’m not sure. But when I asked him, he wasn’t happy about it. Like he hadn’t expected someone to actually call him out on it.” He lied.

Vanya gaped. “You asked him?” She whispered.

“What do you think I was doing earlier?”

The girl blinked owlishly at him. Finally, she looked away, bringing a thumb to her teeth in a childish form of comfort.

“But…. I can’t do anything.”

Klaus smiled, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him. “Don’t worry, Seven. We’ll find out what your mojo is.”

“Together? “ She whispered.

“Of course.”

 

The problem is that Klaus didn’t know what the hell Vanya had done to awaken her powers. He doesn’t know if she’s always had them, or if they manifested sometime during hell week. He doesn’t know shit about almost everything that lead up to the world burning.

He had skipped breakfast, dashing from Mother’s clutches with a simpered wince and mighty pout, claiming he felt sick. (He thinks Father allowed her to let him go. Probably thought his son was weak for choosing to opt out of facing him so soon after getting shut down so humiliatingly.)

Sitting in his dark room, he was cross legged on his floor. Ghosts shimmered around him, but for once they were quiet. Their words a hum instead of a roar.

He was focused wholey on trying to scrounge up anything in his memories that may be a clue as to what, exactly, happened to Vanya to get her to change so much in the past few days.

During their father’s funeral, she had seemed normal. Quiet, closed off, but normal. And not that it wasn’t expected for her to be so quiet, surrounded by her siblings. None of them had been very happy with her published book.

He hadn’t honestly seen much of her during the week leading up to the end. Just glimpses and the steady game of telephone played between the other four, a never ending string of hearsay and rumors.

He thinks he remembers her having gotten a boyfriend, which had confused him. (He remembers whispered conversations, deep into the night. Hidden under the security of blankets and pillows and flashlights. Childish confessions and relieved companionship. They had been the same, both the opposite of what society demanded them to be.) He heard Allison mention Larry, no. Lenny? Leonard? And had tilted his head in quiet bafflement.

He would never out his sister, no matter what secrets of his she spread to the world. So he kept his mouth shut, and that was the first warning sign.

Because Vanya Hargreeves most certainly is not straight. And she most certainly did not have a boyfriend. He supposes, now that he has time to think on it, that perhaps the girl had gotten so lonely, so desperate for companionship and a relationship with someone who cared, that she had put aside her own sexuality.

It’s been done before, he knows. Mental health often comes before preference, people can build loving relationships with people they are not physically attracted to in the name of connection and support.

But Larry/Lenny/Leonard was not what Vanya needed. Five said he was the catalyst. Whatever he did to her, it set her down a dark path.

But what did he do? He frowned, and dug the heels of his palms into his forehead, hitting himself in his effort to remember around the headache gripping his temples, or to connect the dots that he knows are there.

 

The voices around him grew louder, and he shook his head. Pulled his hands over his ears. But the noise only grew, his name twisted on the tongue of pale lips. He grit his teeth, opening his eyes.

The ghosts were closer, leaning in entirely too close to his face. They surrounded him, transparent hands phasing through his body as they reached for him. He yelped, falling backwards as he scrambled away.

But they only followed, their eyes glowing an usual vibrant white. They crawled along the wooden floor, nails biting and scraping against the grain. One of them, a woman with her neck twisted back, she reached for him.

He whimpered, leaning away, and bit his own tongue when her cold, cold, cold hand touched his cheek.

Touched.

Touched him, fingers like claws against his fire-burnt skin. She ran her hand down the marks he himself had carved into his skin, her eyes glowing harshly in the dark of his room. He stared into them, mesmerized by the gleam.

Her grip grew painful on his face, his eyes burning as he stared into the light brighter than the sun.

He exhaled, shaky and loud, and fell faint to the floor.

 

_Blue._

_Dark._

_Bright._

_The alleyway below the bathroom window, Klaus, the pearl-adorned box from his father’s office. Larry/Lenny/Leonard, his silhouette peeking from around the bend of the way._

_His eyes, brown, following Klaus as he dumped the box’s contents in the trash._

_Reaching into the waste, gazing at the papers littered with stains and careful handwriting. Smiling._

_Vanya._

 

Klaus gasped, eyes flying open. His head was pounding, a constant thundering that sent aches and pains down to his toes. His nose felt wet, and when he reached, his fingers came back red.

He groaned, pushing himself to sit up. His vision went dark, spots and patterns floating in space in front of him. He panted, clutching his head.

What the fuck.

What the hell was that?

The ghosts were gone, the room silent except for the ringing in his ears.

His body felt weary, tired in a way he has never felt before. Drained. His powers were an echo in his mind, sated and spent.

He darted his eyes around the room, unbelieving. What the hell had he done? That woman….

She was a nanny, he remembered. Gone missing after only two day’s of work. Appearing once more in his waking nightmare.

She had reached for him, and he saw…

He gasped, jumping to his feet clumsily. Gripping the bedpost when his body tilted worryingly to the side. He saw the man! Vanya’s catalyst!

His heart was exuberant in his chest. He had done it! Whatever he had done, it had granted him a glimpse to the future gone past. An answer to his question.

A start.

He laughed, tears in his eyes, and threw himself onto his bed. He kicked his feet out into the air, excitement overwhelming him.

He could do this!

All he needed was that journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, Ellen Page is too gay for Vanya not to be lamo.  
> But I didn't want to erase her relationship with Leonard bc its an important aspect to her story, and I'm sorry but Vanya just doesn't scream bisexual to me (coming from a bisexual, myself. You guys can see her whichever way, though :) ). So I tried to explain it in a way that I have seen in real life. Some people are just so resigned and lonely and hurting so bad that they just need the relationship and the person more than any aspect of sex/sexuality.  
> Idk I hope it makes sense lol.  
> I just like the thought of Vanya and Klaus being the cool gay kids of the family.  
> Also, I'm not about to erase Vanya's novel from Klaus's mind. In my version, she wrote up some fucked up personal shit in there for the world to see and Klaus hated her for it. (bc she wrote not only about his shit, but EVERYONES shit, and he's a protective bro)  
> Also also, a wild Luther appeared! I don't hate Luther (I will forever love Tom Hopper as Percival in Merlin lmao) but he isnt my fave. (Luther and Allison will NOT be a thing here, thank u very much)  
> ehhh anyways, I had fun writing this! (I skipped my stats lecture today for this lmao)


	4. Chapter 4

Hours later, when the sun was high in the sky and the house was alive with the bumps and scrapes and noise that comes with inhabiting seven children, the alarms rung.

Klaus had been dozing softly on his bed, his exhaustion leaning heavy on his eyelids. Ben was with him, coloring quietly by the foot of the bed.

It was nice to be with the boy again. His presence a reminder that their relationship, a glowing companionship that the two had always had, was just as strong before as it was through death.

Klaus relaxed to the scritch scratch of crayola crayons and waxy paper and the quiet ringing in his ears louder than the screams ever were. (In the reassurance that maybe some things never change no matter how far back in time one goes.)

It had been lazy, and calm, and nice. The afternoon sun streaming through the small window rested on his face, warming his skin and coaxing his eyes shut. The first moment of peace he’s had in ten months.

The sudden alarms that blared from the house’s surround system sent him flying into the air, legs kicking Ben in their jump of shock. Ben cursed as his hands flung the fluorescent blue crayon across the room, leaving a streak of color in its wake.

He stared mournfully at his drawing before slithering to his feet, catching Klaus’s hand to pull him off the bed. The boy groaned, reluctant to leave the cozy haze of blankets and sunlight.

With a sigh, Klaus plopped to the floor, pulling his ugly dress shoes onto his feet before following Ben out to the hallway. The other boy was dragging his step, shoulders hunched as they made their way to the front entrance of the giant house.

It was weird, being called into duty once more. The last time Klaus had had to fight with his siblings was when he was eighteen and young and so, so angry. (He had been the first to leave, unsurprisingly. Had enough of his useless powers and the blood and the ghosts and the fights. He had packed his things and left without a word but to Ben and Diego, the only ones who had cared.)

Now he’s seventeen years younger than he was yesterday, and the fight rages on.

Honestly, he had never much understood why Father made him go on missions. He wasn’t like Luther, with his strength. Or Diego or Five with their abilities and knives, or even Allison, with her words. He was just pale and haunted and weak, more distracted by the wails of the victims than he was focused on the attacks of the perpetrators. He was vulnerable during the fights, a weakness to his siblings should he get hurt.

The most he ever done was keep the civilians safe and calm. He was trained in self defense, so he wasn’t useless, (even though lately he’s much better with a gun than he ever should have been) but he was always pitched to the sidelines. A smiling face for the panicked civilians and a strong fist against the persistent villains.

He was good at protecting people. Has always been. And after he’d suffer a punch or two (bloody noses and bruises along his jaw) he’d turn to the people with a blood-speckled grin and a steady hand outreached to help.

They loved him. The public’s favorites had always been Allison and Five (pretty and witty) but the victims’ had always been him. It’s one of the reasons why he resented Vanya’s book so much. No one trusts a helping hand that once held pockets full of pills. That shakes with withdrawal and tremors with the weight of sobriety. (He had already left by the time Vanya published her book, but the effect it had was all the same. Survivors had reached out, telling the world how foolish they felt for trusting a junkie. How betrayed they felt that their hero was nothing but an ordinary human, tainted by real-world struggles such as drugs and pills and addiction.)

He didn’t want to relive this aspect of their lives, yet at the same time his spine tingled in excitement. It had been years since he had saved someone. His life after he left was dim, he helped no one but himself and certainly didn’t save anyone’s life. He had begun to feel like a waste, going from a promised ‘hero’ to a boy who could barely string a sentence together through his clouded mind and poisoned veins.

He hated being a Hargreeves, hated the Academy. But if he were to do it again, which he apparently will, he wouldn't give up saving people.

(He couldn’t. He had felt the weight of lives in his hands and he’d already thrown it away once. He couldn’t do it again.)

So it was with a twinge of nervous apprehension, excitement, anxiety, that he turned to Ben and smiled. It was mournful, it was sad. For him.

“I’m sorry you have to do this, Ben.”

The boy peeked at Klaus, lips raw and bitten. He turned away and drew his shoulders to his ears. “I don’t like hurting people.” He whispered. “I don’t wanna go.”

Klaus gave the boy a side hug, his height and the fact they were still walking making his bony hip dig into the other boy’s side. It was awkward, but Ben relaxed. “I know.” He paused.

“I hate fighting people, too. But.” He clenched his jaw. “It’s all we can do. To save people.” Ben nodded, and his eyes were misty.

“Maybe, this time. Maybe you shouldn’t use your powers unless it’s a last resort?” He asked.

“What do you mean?” Ben still wasn’t looking at him, just played with the hem of their uniform’s sweater.

“I mean, Number One usually asks you to take out the people left over, right? Well, what if we just. Fought them like normal people? Like, don’t use your powers unless you really need it. Like, if we’re overwhelmed, or someone’s really getting hurt, or something.” Klaus swallowed. “You shouldn’t be forced to kill people when we can take care of them another way.”

Ben’s eyes were huge, tears still brimming on the surface. He grabbed Klaus’s hand in his own, held on tight. “But, I’m not very good at fighting with my fists like him. Or in using knives like Two. I’m just, I’m only good at killing them with my monsters.” He whispered, voice choked.

“Well, we’ll just have to learn, then.” Klaus smiled.

Ben hovered, hands tightening on Klaus’s fingers. “We?”

“Well, I’m not very good at fighting either. And I can’t just leave you to fight all by your lonesome, can I?”

Ben grinned, bright and wide. “You’d do that for me?”

“Dude, of course.” He pushed Ben’s shoulder playfully, his stomach twisting guiltily. He should have done this the first time around. Ben should never have been left to suffer silently as he was forced to take people’s lives. As he was ordered to literally murder people and walk out with a smile and a wave to the cameras. It was sick.

(He remembers comforting Ben as children, a steady hand on his shoulder in the after effects. He hated how they were treated, how they were used and forgotten about, yelled at until they bent to their Father’s will. But they had both been too hopeless, too numb in their ways and too subservient to Father’s orders and Luther’s direction to even think of finding a way around their usual routine. The thought of fighting with anything other than the beast inside him was alien to Ben, just as the thought of using his connections to the dead as anything other than a nightmare was impossible for Klaus. But he’s older, now. And he won’t lose Ben again. Not his brother.)

“But, what if Father gets mad? He wants me to use my power. And he doesn’t like it when we train outside of his orders.” Ben pointed out. He was still hanging off of Klaus, even as they got closer to the others.

Klaus smiled, bitter and sharp. Teeth and chapped lips. He remembered the way the old man had looked down on him earlier that morning, his cold words. He wanted Klaus to get stronger, well he would. And he’s gonna make sure he does it in the most infuriating way possible.

“Fuck him.” Klaus bit, and slapped his brother on the shoulder. Ben laughed, covering his mouth as though to hide the fact. He glanced warily over his shoulder befor scampering after the taller boy.

There was a skip in his step and a hopeful gleam in his eye and Klaus would do everything and anything to keep it there. His brother deserved to be anything but a murderer, his father’s orders be damned.

 

His siblings were all gathered in the living room, all except Vanya. (Her violin could be heard echoing through the halls, louder than the alarms and twice as horrifying to Klaus’s anxiety-filled memories. White and noise and fire-)

Five was tapping his foot impatiently, frown ever present. Father was frowning in the background, hovering by the door and cane gripped tight by his side.

“About time,” Five growled, and Klaus stuck out his tongue.

“Make sure to keep up next time, or we’ll leave you behind.” Father monotoned, the threat heavy beneath his words. (They do not want to figure out what will happen to them if they should ever be so slow as to get left behind.) Klaus shivered.

Ben looked at Klaus, brow worried, and Klaus nodded. They were still going through with their plan. The boy nodded back and followed shortly behind the others as Klaus skipped to Diego’s side.

The shorter boy rolled his eyes at Klaus, mouth curling into a small smile as they fell into step side by side.

The group filed into the van (their crime-fighting van. Also known as the only thing large enough to fit all seven of them- including their father- while not looking snobby and entitled as a limo would.). It was cramped and awkward as they rode in silence, Father at the helm and the radio on mute.

They were headed to a popular modern art museum. Apparently there were a bunch of sickos with masks and guns holding it up and trying to get away with some art that barely even constituted as such. There were civilians trapped inside, some under threat of fire while most were reportedly scattered throughout the building in various hiding spots.

It was the Umbrella Academy’s job to save them.

 

The street the museum resided on was already filled with paparazzi and police. Newscasters scittered around with microphones and cameras and notepads. Upon seeing the infamous sleek black van, the noise of the crowd swelled, enveloping the street in a burst of excitement and chaos.

The police were trying to control the crowd, but the public was overwhelming in their vehement desire to see the young heroes.

It was more like an award ceremony than a crime scene. A path parted between the reporters and civilians like a red carpet, cameras flashing and popping in bursts of light. Klaus swallowed dryly. He had always kind of hated the attention that came with being a hero.

He liked attention, always felt comfortable when the limelight was centered on him. But when the audience started to stretch into the hundreds, even he started to feel a little nervous.

He bit his lip and vainly tried to catch his reflection in the car’s rear view mirror. (His hair was a curly mess, missing the usual slicked back look that Father usually enforced- no doubt to be yelled upon later. His uniform was wrinkled and his tie barely held together. The bags under his sunken eyes were almost dark enough to constitute as his familiar eye shadow even hidden beneath the mask as they were. He looked like Klaus and it made him smile.)

As they stepped out of the vehicle, one by one like clowns from a tiny car, the lights burst into pinpricks behind his eyelids. He was thankful for the mask if only for the sheer protection it offered from the blinding lights.

They wasted no time in running up to the building, pushing past the police who tried wearily to stop the children from entering.

Five blinked behind the first assailant, picking up a (priceless, no doubt) vase and smashing it loudly over the man’s head. He went down like a sack of bricks, dropping his gun and alerting the others to the heroes’ arrival.

Luther cursed at Five, who only grinned and popped away.

Klaus laughed, and ducked behind a set of exhibits showing off various potteries and clay makings. There were three other men in the room, one currently getting annihilated by Luther and one running from Diego’s knives.

Allison and Five had already moved on to the next room, and Ben was hanging behind twisting his hands as he waited to be called upon.

Klaus licked his lips, looking at the third man. He was swearing and stomping away from One and Two in the direction of the others, raising his gun to fire at Allison while she darted into the hallway.

Klaus cursed and scrambled to pick up the gun the first man had dropped. It was heavy in his smaller hands, newer and more advanced than the ones he had relied upon in Vietnam. But the grip was the same, and he hefted it up with an air of familiarity and confidence. He shoot quickly, hitting the robber purposefully in the knee cap.

He screamed, dropping to the tiled floor in a burst of red. Allison stumbled, looking over her shoulder with wide eyes. (Blood had bounced onto her blouse, stained her feet as it spread beneath the howling man’s hands and onto the floor.) Klaus threw her a thumbs up and she smiled shakily, staring at the gun in his tiny hands.

“Nice shot!” Diego grinned, cleaning his knives on his shorts. He patted Klaus on the back and followed Allison to the next room. Klaus straightened, pride bubbling in his stomach.

Five had made quick work of most of the men in the next room, and the one after that. (Even as an actual thirteen year old child Five had been ruthless.) Instead of focusing on the fight, Klaus drifted over to the captives.

They were huddled in the corner of the hallway, hidden behind an information desk. There were six of them, and when they saw his masked face, familiar from the news reports, they weeped in relief.

“Hey, there!” He smiled at them. “It’s safe to come out, now.”

A young girl, probably seven or so, leaped from behind the desk and launched into his arms. He stumbled backwards, falling to the ground and dragging the girl down with him in his surprise. She was crying, face spotted with red cheeks and snot. He winced, leaning as far away from her as was socially polite.

“Uh, are you okay?” He stuttered. The girl only wailed louder, pudgy hands digging into his suit blazer. He’s never been the best with kids, their innocent eyes and naivete had always been a figment out of his reach, a concept his haunted mind never understood or experienced.

“We think she was lost when the place was shot up.” A young man said, clad in a business suit.

“O-oh.” He pat the girl’s shoulder awkwardly. “Uh, don’t worry about that, we’ll help you find your parents.” He reassured.

The girl peeked up at him, blue eyes wide and streaming. “Really?” She whispered.

He laughed, “It’s what we do, kiddo.”

(Some of the adults hiding behind the desk laughed at a thirteen year old calling the girl ‘kiddo’, he glowered at them and they resoundly shut up.)

The girl seemed placated, but she still refused to let go of his arm, forcing him to hesitantly lead the girl through the museum in search of her parents. His free hand gripped tight around his gun as he peeked behind corners, leading the girl further and further into uncharted territory.

They found them eventually, three floors up. Ben had thankfully joined them on the second floor, no doubt trying to avoid Luther and any possible orders detailing mass destruction. Seeing her parents, the girl had thrown Klaus’s arm to the side as she bolted to the couple, nearly wrenching his arm out of its socket.“Mommy!” She yelled, and buried herself into her mother’s arms. Her father was crying, but the woman’s eyes were surprisingly dry when she approach the two boys, daughter curled by her side.

“Thank you.” She told them, jaw set. Klaus nodded, tugging his curly hair and rubbing his sore shoulder in mild embarrassment.

“No problem,” He assured her. But she only shook her head.

“No, seriously. Thank you.” She took his hands in her own, placing a business card between his fingertips. “I’m a lawyer. If you ever need anything, anything at all. Don’t be afraid to call.”

Klaus blinked, still bewildered and recovering from the amount of whiplash he’s had from everyone’s emotions in the last ten minutes. “Lawyer?” He asked, dumbly.

The woman nodded, blinking down at him steadily. “Anything.” She promised him.

Klaus’s stomach flipped uneasily. He didn’t remember this happening at all from his childhood. Did the fact that events were already changing mean he was doing something right? Was this a good sign? He glanced at Ben, who seemed about as surprised as he did, before thanking the woman.

Before they left to regroup with their siblings, the little girl cast a sunny smile their way. “Thank you, Mister Four!” She beamed.

Klaus blushed, and waved back to the girl.

 

Klaus took down two more robbers on their way to the others. Ben had watched from behind him, silent as his brother took perfect aim for their kneecaps and thighs. Survivable, but debilitating.

“I didn’t know you could shoot.” He whispered after Klaus holstered the gun.

Klaus hesitated, looking down at the squirming thief. “I uh, stole a beebee gun from a kid down the block. Guess I got pretty good.” He lied.

Ben huffed, taking his brother for his word even as anxiety pooled in Klaus’s chest.

Ben rubbed the back of his head, “Do you, uh, think you could show me how?” He asked.

Klaus turned to his brother, brow raised. “To shoot?”

“Yeah.”

He stared for a second. Klaus has never, in his life, been asked to teach someone something. Ever. Laughter bubbled in his throat, slipped between his lips in a breathless burst. “Really? Me?”

Ben pouted. “You seem good enough.” He looked away, red faced, “And Diego gets really impatient whenever he tries to teach us stuff.”

“He’s a ruddy bastard like that,” Klaus simpered, grin wide. Diego, bless him, never had the heart for teaching. (Klaus asked him once to teach him how to bake, which the boy had always had a surprising knack for. The event had ended hours later in a storm of flung flour and tears and screaming and them not talking to each other for three days until Mom forced them to work it out.)

Ben was still looking away, so Klaus punched his shoulder and smiled at him. “I’ll show you this weekend, during training.” He promised, and Ben blinked up at him hesitantly. “We’re already gonna learn some other ways of fighting, right? Might as well add this to the list.”

 

By the time they managed to catch up with the others, Ben was walking beside Klaus much happier than he could almost ever remember the boy being at that age. (Or any age, really.)

They climbed up a few more levels, clearing out any men that the others had missed. One had surprised them and gotten a bit too close for comfort, and when the bullet went through his side, the man’s blood had bounced delicately and profusely onto Klaus’s uniform. It soaked his midriff and spotted the left side of his face. (Ben had screamed, jumping away from the noise and the spatter of red on instinct. Almost toppled to the ground if it hadn’t been for his quick reflexes.)

Finally, they found the other four children had gathered on the top floor of the museum, surrounded by unconscious bodies littering the open rooms.

“There you guys are.” Luther said, turning towards them as they came into view. Klaus’s sweater was stained and dripping with speckles of red, his gun nearly empty of ammo. Ben was clean, not having to have used his powers even once. “Where were you?”

“We were helping some hostages. A little girl got lost from her parents.” Ben piped up, finally separating from his side to join Diego a little ways away.

“There were also a few stragglers on the way over,” Klaus grinned, striking a pose and using his fingers as a makeshift gun, pointing them straight at his blond brother. “But we got ‘em, don’t worry.” Luther frowned, and Klaus used his pointer fingers to poke the boy’s cheek playfully. Number One growled in irritation, swatting his brother’s hand out of his face.

Allison laughed in the background, hiding her smirk behind a delicate hand and tossing Klaus a mischievous look.

“Stop messing around, Four.” Luther frowned, but Klaus ignored him and his huge swatting hands by gracefully twirling away. He found Five in a quiet corner of the room, pale and ruddy cheeked, sweat clinging to his forehead.

He was leaning on his knees, knobby legs barely looking like they were enough to hold him up.

The other heroes had started to look around the floor, checking the bodies and making sure that there weren’t any more threats.

“You okay?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back curiously. Five had a tendency to overwork his powers without a second thought. The boy looked up at him, brown eyes lidded, and carefully straightened so he was standing at full height.

He was still shorter than him even when Klaus was stuck in his younger body, and it made him surprisingly nostalgic. (Missed the days when height was a thing that was important to them, another competition in their sea of rivalry and determination to prove themselves better than one another in the way only siblings could feel.)

“Fine.”

Klaus hummed. “If you say so.” He let Five simmer in silence, rocking back and forth on his heels while looking straight into his eyes. For all the good his prickly exterior was at pushing people away, it was always easy for Klaus to make Five give up the information he wanted, or at least, it had been before he disappeared for decades on end.

Five clenched his jaw, trying desperately to avoid wide green eyes. Klaus tilted his head, leaning forward into the boy’s space. Five snarled, “Alright, alright! Jesus…”

He bit his lip for a moment, brow pulled low. He looked frustrated, tired. “My power’s been draining faster than usual.” He said. Klaus tilted his head.

“How do you mean?”

The boy huffed impatiently. “I _mean_ it’s been draining fast like it wasn’t at full power to begin with. Like if I used a lot of it and it’s still recovering.”

Oh.

Klaus looked away, discomfort twisting in his stomach. Five had used a lot of power to take them back in time, even if only he remembered it. It wasn’t surprising that his reserves were still recovering, in fact it made quite a bit of sense. Five had always been quick to use and slow to recuperate, one of the only things about his overwhelming power that kept him on the same level as the others.

His brother wasn’t looking at him, and Klaus let himself stutter in a deep breath, trying desperately to ignore his racing heart. He hated lying to his family. For as much as he avoided telling them things, the important things, he had always made a point of telling his siblings the full blooded truth if they cared to ask. He didn’t want to push Five into investigating his recovering abilities and figuring out that some things aren't adding up, but he didn’t want him to worry about his lack of strength either.

Klaus groaned, drawing the boy’s attention. “Have you been practicing more often than usual?”

Five tensed, shoulders drawn into a tight line. “What do you mean?”

Klaus hadn’t really meant any double meaning, but the way Five reacted sent warning bells in his mind. He narrowed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. The others were still preoccupied, so he drew closer to the shorter boy and frowned heavily.

“You’ve been messing around with time, haven’t you?” He guessed. Five’s jaw popped visibly through his cheek, and Klaus sighed loudly. “Dude! You’re not supposed to do that!”

“I’m ready! Father is just being obtuse, I can handle it! I’ve _been_ handling it!” He growled.

There was steel in his gaze, and Klaus realized suddenly that this may be one of his only chances to dissuade his brother from experimenting with things he didn’t understand. His only shot at saving this boy’s innocence and childhood from dust and ash and fire. From the apocalypse.

Anxiety gripped his throat. He couldn’t fuck this up. He’s fucked up many things in his life, but this couldn’t be one of them. Not his brother.

“Listen, Five.” He whispered. He watched as his brother rolled his shoulders, tension bleeding out of his form at the sound of Klaus’s soft voice. He didn’t want to argue with the boy, didn’t want to rile up his sensitive temper and set him off more determined than before. “I’m just worried, okay?”

Real tears bit at his eyes. Losing Five had been the catalyst in his family. The final blow to split them into fractions. Five disappeared, and with him, any sense of love and compassion between the children forced together by fate.

“I don’t want you to tackle this alone and get- get stuck. I just, _please_ just wait until we understand what time travel even means, okay? Until we know for certain that we always have a way of finding you, of, of, getting you _back_. Please.”

His eyes were burning with unshed tears, and he felt his lips quivering pathetically.Five didn’t mention his emotional state, just stared at him with wide eyes. (Five had never been the most in touch with his emotions. Had never really accepted comfort or support and never truly attempted to offer it. The few times he did, it was awkward and painful but so, so appreciated.)

He looked like he hadn't thought about ever not being able to get back, and the thought sat bitter in his stomach because of course he never thought about that. Five’s pride was a powerful force.

The boy drew a knuckle to his teeth, expression stormy. His eyes flickered between his brother and the wall behind him, avoidant yet drawn to the raw pain written on Klaus’s face.

(Five was a softie for his family. He had survived the apocalypse for them, had lived a lifetime of pain and fire just for the slim chance of living again in their timeline, of getting the opportunity to see them alive and happy once more.)

So it wasn’t terribly surprising to Klaus when Five shut his eyes, a defeated sigh escaping his lips in a ghostly exhale. Victory shined in Klaus’s chest, diminishing the traces of guilt over manipulating his brother in such a way in the face of saving him.

“I,” He coughed, “I guess I hadn’t thought about that.”

Five stuck his hands in his pockets, stance that characteristic slouch. “I just, I dunno. I want to get better.”

Klaus tilted his head, smile soft. “You’re already great, Five.”

Five stared at him, the usual frown erased from his childish face. The poor boy was always the best out of all of them, always had the strength that the others lacked, the discipline and drive that ran thin through the remaining five siblings- Vanya not included. He was always the best, and so no one ever gave him the praise he deserved.

(Fighting to be better than the others, a rivalry that only siblings could understand. Yet too harsh, too serious. And at the end of the day, relied upon far too much as a sense of worth. Constantly putting each other down to make themselves feel better, shining light on everyone else’s weaknesses and none on their strengths. Five was the best, and had the most hate directed at him from his own family. Competition only siblings could understand.)

“You, you don’t need to do this to yourself, Five. Your powers are already, I mean, they’re great! And you’ve always had such control over them, and… I just mean, you don’t need to conquer something so dangerous to prove yourself. Not to anyone.” He scratched his neck, “And if you do, if you need to prove it to yourself, then we can help you. You don’t have to tackle this alone.”

“How could you help me? How could any of you?”

“I don’t know,” He shrugged, “But seven heads are better than one and all that, yeah?” Five choked on a laugh, looking away from Klaus and blinking hard.

“Yeah,” He whispered.

He stood for a moment, breathing deeply. At least his legs weren’t shaking anymore, and his face had regained it’s usual pallor. “Fine.” He said.

Klaus grinned, “Promise?”

Five rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. I promise not to mess with time travel any more.” He narrowed his eyes, “At least, alone.”

Klaus threw himself at his brother, lanky arms tugging the boy close. Five startled, but eventually he hugged back, arms coming to rest gently on Klaus’s back. (He couldn’t remember the last time he had given Five a hug. The boy who stepped into the future shrugged off all contact, flinched at close proximity. The Klaus from the past had been too busy running from the dead to focus on the living.)

“Thank you.” He whispered.

 

Shortly after, the six heroes clambered back down to the ground floor, collecting all the survivors and civilians along the way. Seeing the exit reinforced with police officers, the people ran out, screaming and sobbing with relief and joy. (Together, they had managed to save everyone. There wasn't one death that day.)

Stepping outside was awkward. The dried blood that littered his uniform felt like a brand. His mask tingled on his face, the sense one gets when they aren’t used to wearing glasses, the unavoidable awareness of the object resting on their skin. A numb tickle across his nose, an uncomfortable itch he couldn’t scratch.

The masks were a surprising effort against the public. Reginald Hargreeves was a famous man, and he wasn’t afraid to announce his relations to the six child heroes. Yet somehow, their names were protected from the public. Their faces anonymous and their history blank. (Hargreeves had acquired all of them through… slightly less than legal means, there was no adoption record, no children listed under the family name.)

The group stood in front of the museum, lined up in perfect order. Allison stood to his left, Five to his right. News castors and cameras surrounded them, loud voices and unavoidable questions, flashes of photography and screaming fans.

“Number One, Number One! How would you describe today’s fight as the leader of the Umbrella Academy?” A reporter yelled, face unrecognizable in the sea of sharks.

Luther clammered out a response, stiff and uncomfortable.

There were many questions for Allison as well, and even more for Five. Not many were directed at Ben or Diego, who stood mostly motionless in the background. They were both the worst when it came to social interactions, much preferring to let their siblings take the reins when it came to interviews.

“Number Four, what exactly is it that you do in the Academy?” A voice raised, and Klaus felt himself smile.

“Why, I’m the mandatory comic relief, of course.”

 

(The one to be laughed at, the one that received the shit end of the stick. Who got knocked down over and over and over again and yet there he was at the end, standing tall, just as surprised as anyone. The one that literal, actual God apparently couldn’t care less about. God actually hated him, and yet here he was, a hero.

A boy with a second chance at life, a boy who barely even wanted the first one.

His life was a joke, and fate was the one laughing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, work's been ass and I had two exams this week lol  
> Klaus is slowly making his rounds to all of the Hargreeves children lmao. He just wants them all to work together and be happy.  
> Also, Ben and Klaus ftw.  
> oh, and sorry for the lack of Vanya in this chapter. I couldn't make her fit :/  
> Oh!! and in case it wasn't obvious in the writing, Klaus can't see or hear the ghosts rn. Him seeing the ghost's vision had exhausted his powers for a little while, so they're recharging. I figured it was a funny way of giving Klaus relief without the drugs, something he never discovered in the first timeline bc he was always too scared to use his powers to that extent :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh sorry for the delay, guess who forgot their laptop charger in their dorm room during spring break?? (this bitch)  
> hopefully it was worth the wait lmao

Getting kidnapped, sadly, wasn’t the scariest thing he’d experienced in his thirty years of life. Cha-Cha and Hazel, as much as they tried, never stood a chance against the constant backdrop of endless torture. Ghosts wailing in his mind’s ear as they relived their deaths, stuck in repeat over and over and over again; cried and suffered for _years_ on end after death, following him wherever he went. (Never stood a chance to his Father, stopwatch in his hands, the moon his back light oh so bright as he closed the heavy stone wall. Sealed him away, alone with countless bodies and the there-but-not-actually scent of rot and blood and _death._ )

He had looked at the hitmen, their masks hollow and eery and to anyone else, surely terrifying, but he had just- just; he hadn’t been surprised.

Sitting in the bathtub, water clouding his ears, eyes sealed shut, and _still_ the haunts found him. Music blaring pitched into his ears, a chorus of cries and pleading murmurs. His eyes, dripping black with water-stained mascara and eyeshadow, clenched tight the entire somber dance back to his room. Avoiding the stares he felt burning into the back of his neck.

So avidly he was ignoring his surroundings he hadn’t noticed the real, living man standing behind him. Hadn’t noticed the way he had grabbed the nearest object, a thick-ass book, and hefted it high.

He noticed the book eventually, though.

When it hit him in the back of the skull.

It took three hits to knock him out. (Hazel was huge, and strong, but a book was still a book at the end of the day.) The second, on his dazed turn around to meet his attacker, hit his ear. It sent him flying, clutching the side of his head as the headphones flung to the ground. His ears were abuzz, white noise and a steady ring.

The third swing got him right in the nose. It broke instantly in a gush of blood, and he was gone.

 

He woke up in the mausoleum.

No.

He woke up locked in his room-

No.

He woke-

He woke up in a tight space. It was dark. His ear was still ringing, and his legs were folded tight to his chest and sent numb pricks down his bones. Ben wasn’t with him, there wasn’t enough room in the space for two bodies, ethereal or not.

His heart was steady in chest, racing but true. It was surprisingly easy for him to think straight, considering the three blows to head he had received. He went to drag his fingers against the walls enclosing in on him, but his arms only jolted weakly behind his back. They were tied, and the exhale he pushed out informed him that there was tape on his mouth.

The bumps and motion he felt lead him to guess that he was in a trunk, and he kicked out weakly with his bare feet, remembering all of those late-night sessions watching murder mysteries that told him to knock out the tail lights.

He hadn’t even made a dent by the time the car rolled to a stop.

The trunk opened, and he blinked wearily at the two figures above him.

 

Torture was routine. He had never experienced it before, but what he got wasn’t exactly a combination of new feelings. Pain, sure. He grew up a crime-fighting hero. He wasn’t new to a few scrapes and bruises, to some criminals finding some new and creative ways of getting what they wanted out of him. (Granted, most weren’t willing to go too far on a child, wide-eyed and so young.)

Cha-Cha and Hazel seemed more irritated than even he was by the end of the night. They kept pulling back, whispering in harsh tones by the motel bathroom.

He was slick with sweat and blood. Tears and bruises marred his face, his hair dangled in a curly mess over his eyes. He was trapped to a chair, basically naked and shivering in full body shudders.

Ben had found his way back to him. He stood nearby, not saying much but offering Klaus all the comfort he could provide. There wasn’t much a ghost could do in this situation, but Klaus appreciated the attempts all the same.

 

Then, when the moon was at its nightly peak, the whispers began once more. They started a buzz under his skin. Like ants crawling through his veins, nesting in his ears and feasting on his eyes. His entire body was a sick combination of aches and pains, but the whispers and moans that screamed in his mind hurt more than any wound.

He whimpered, and Ben watched pitifully. (He never saw the ghosts until they were there, couldn’t feel their approach like Klaus could. He never needed to, Klaus’s reactions were warning enough.)

Alone to his suffering, his captors watched as he shook his head side to side, willing the voices away.

It didn’t work, and instead they only manifested one by one around him. Cramped in the dingy motel room, the smell of dead and decomposing corpses plunged his nose, made him choke on his breath and stifle out a sob.

 

In the end, Cha-Cha and Hazel needn’t have had even laid a finger on his skin. Just keeping the drugs away, keeping his mind clear and sound and safe, was enough torture to make him weep. He screamed and cried and pleaded because _god._ It was terrible, and he hadn’t had to face the full force of his powers in so _long._

Honestly, he doesn’t remember much of his escape.

He remembered a woman, a cop and Diego’s friend. (More than friend.) She helped him, and she died.

(He remembers not looking back, leaving her there to bleed out on her own. He remembers sitting with his brother in the car, talking about their lost ones and _hating_ himself.)

He had taken the first exit he saw, and the case that sat in his way came along with him.

Then he ran, Ben on his heels and case sticking to his palm with dried blood. He ran, and ran, and when he saw the bus at the corner, he let himself get carried away.

He doesn’t know how long he was on the bus for. He didn’t know where it was going, or how many round trips he ended up going on. By the time he had pulled out of his head, had blinked back into the world around him, the sky was a murky state of almost dawn.

The case sat on his lap, and Ben was collapsed on the seat next to him.

Then Klaus was gone.

 

Closing your eyes in one decade and opening them in a new one was… _disorientating,_ to say the least. He was still on a bus, and the case was still on his lap, but Ben was gone, and the scent of blood that haunted his mind and chipped under his fingernails had become stronger. Around him were men, boys, war heroes before the war.

He opened his eyes and found himself in the midst of Vietnam. The bus was on its way to dropping off the fresh recruits to their camp, the boys inside wide-eyed and full of childish wonder.

He met Dave immediately, and he began to understand what people meant when they spoke of love at first sight.

Because Klaus had looked at him, and he saw golden light.

They fought together, and it was a melody of moving parts and companionship and trust.

They lay in their separate bunks at night, voices low and hands dipped between the spaces, entwined. He met Dave, and it was like coming home.

They started off as friends. Close friends. They relied on each other, they fought for each other. When their friends started to die off around them, they were always the ones left standing. When Klaus screamed and cried and told Dave of the ghosts hanging off his shoulders, Dave had believed him. Drew him close and listened and was _there_ for him in a way that no one else in his life had ever been.

Then, when the troops were let loose in the town, they found each other.

The bar pulsed with music, it hang overhead as bodies danced and drank and partied like they’d be dead tomorrow. (Because they were.) Klaus was, admittedly, a bit tipsy. But Dave wasn’t, he hadn’t had anything that night.

They found each other in the sea of men and they danced.

A long glance, and they escaped the bar. Fell into the spaces inbetween, the ones safe and forgotten by the world.

They kissed, and Klaus fell in love.

Klaus… had never really known what love felt like before that moment. He loved people, he loved his siblings, some more than others. He loved Mother, and Ben, and Diego, and Five. He loved them the most, he would always love them the most.

But the swell in his chest, the breathless joy in his heart, he had never felt that before.

Had never looked in someone’s eyes and _known_ that they felt the same.

 

Dave died a month later.

 

Ten months he spent in Vietnam, and he wouldn’t trade them for the world. For some, war was the end. Of a life, of their sanity, of their humanity. But for Klaus, it had been his everything. In the security of anonymity he had discovered who he was outside the ghosts, outside the drugs. He found health in his mind, found a way to accept his powers for what they were and accept himself in the process.

Dave helped him with that, but he wasn’t the whole of it.

He grew in Vietnam, became someone he had never been before.

But when Dave died, Klaus had no reason to stay.

When Dave died, a part of Klaus had, too.

 

The thing about love is, it doesn’t just bring a swell in the chest, a breathless joy in the heart.

It’s a knife in the back. A shudder of dying breath. It’s a heart gushing red and bullet to fragile flesh.

 

Klaus stepped into 2019 with sticky fingers still warm with lost love, with dog tags chained around his neck screaming a name not his own, and the case on his lap.

He came home and he came alone.

 

When he woke, he was in the mausoleum.

No.

When he woke he was locked in his room.

No.

When he woke he was in the trunk-

On the bus-

Next to D-

No.

When he woke, he was home.

Blood wet on his fingers, chain around his neck, Dave-

He was screaming. He was crying, coughing and spluttering around desperate breaths. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe.

His throat was raw, and every hoarse shriek that ripped from him sent spindles of agony down his esophagus. His hands were wet, and his face was burning. The tracks carved down his cheeks were reopened and angry, blood flowing down his face and mixing with salty tears.

The ghosts were clamoring around him, reaching and pulling away from the screaming child. They warped and stammered with every scream he pushed out of tired lungs.

Thunder pounded on the door, the wooden frame creaking and splintering around the weight. It was Father and his siblings he knew. It was Ben and Diego and Five but it didn’t matter because it wasn’t _him._

The house had no locks, but something refused to let them in. Something blue.

God, it felt like his heart was trying to beat out of his chest. It hurt, it felt like he was on the brink of a heart attack. His fingers were numb, his chest was constricting and shuddering. The blankets were tangled around his feet, and the sky was dark; there was no moon tonight.

His voice stuttered, screams whimpering into a muted gasp. His pried his eyes open, lids sticky and plastered together from the blood oozing down his face.

The room was blinding, filled to every corner with the brightest shade of blue-white. The ghosts that hovered around him even in sleep were being pushed back. They collapsed and fell, and when they hit the ground they shattered into dust, blew away and took their comrades with them.

He was alone, alone, alone.

A shaky hand covered his mouth as he gagged, terror twisting his stomach and forcing bile up his throat. It was then he noticed the wisps circling his hands. They were blue, deep and true.

They twisted and curled around his fingertips, flicked and broke away like embers into the air around him.

“Oh, shit-” He whispered, hoarse. He jerked his hands in front of him, held them out warily. His hands (so much smaller, so thin and weak) looked normal, just as pale and knobby as they’d ever been. But the blue that encompassed them had a mind of their own, a projection of his new found powers that he couldn’t control.

Energy pounded in his chest, burst on his rib cage and demanded to be let _out._ It sent shivers down his spine, shook his arms until his skin was practically vibrating with the force.

It was overwhelming, something he had never felt before. His powers, when he was sober enough to feel them, had always lingered in the back of his mind. They were like the feeling one gets when you know you’re forgetting something, but you can’t quite remember what. They felt just as annoying as they were, forever lingering on the edge of Klaus’s psyche.

Now, Klaus felt them everywhere, all at once. And it hurt.

Worse than Hazel and Cha-Cha, worse than the withdrawals. It felt like the amped up version of sitting in class, knowing the answer and so desperate to say it, but the teacher refusing to call on you. It felt like a twist to his stomach, a hurried heart beat, adrenaline racing through his veins and yet his body paralyzed.

It was terrible, and he wanted it gone.

Without quite realizing what it was he was doing, Klaus gripped his hair, scream bubbling in throat once more.

The ghosts started manifesting back into the corners of his room, started piecing their ashes back together hurriedly and frantically. (They looked at Klaus with anticipation, they looked at him like the new messiah.)

His powers filled Klaus to the brim, and his scream finally worked its way out of his mouth, his hands flying out to his sides. Blue washed over him, cradled him and held him close.

He let go, and he felt safe.

His eyes flickered open, green and pale and glossed with relief. The buzz in his mind simmered to a slow stop, and the jerky anxiousness in his limbs had finally begun to fade. His throat was killing him, but it could be ignored, along with the sticky scabs marring his cheeks. The hollowness in his heart.

The room was silent for a moment, a heavy silence, the calm before the storm. (The banging on the door had stopped, but somehow Klaus knew that his family was still waiting behind it. Waiting for him.)

Then, the ghosts began to glow. Their light filled the empty spaces left behind from Klaus’s nightmares. They were a mirage of color, reds and greens and purple and yellow (not blue, never blue). They didn’t look surprised, instead they shuffled and dropped and jumped, a litany of action and excitement, restless and childlike.

An old man, face aged and wrinkled from time far before his death, was gazing at his hands in wonder. They were just as old and wrinkled as his face, but that wasn’t what caught Klaus’s eye.

They were real.

Not just the semi-corporeal form that Klaus had once summoned for Ben. No, as their wash of color began to fade back into the air around them, they were instead aglow with warm cheeks and red noses and blood blood blood.

They were alive.

_God,_ they were _alive._

But they were dying once more.

Their old wounds, their old deaths, were picking up right where they left off. Slit throats bubbled, gun shoots oozed, lungs coughed up old water, broken bones, starving children, endless sleep. There were just under thirteen ghosts in the room when Klaus’s powers went off like a ticking bomb, and they were all alive again.

They were all dying again and it was Klaus who killed them.

The old man was looking at him, he realized distantly, around the frenzied breaths and the gagging and the sobbing. (“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sor-”) He was still huddled in his bed, blankets thrown every which way. His knees were drawn to his chin and rocked his body methodically back and forth, shaking hands covering his gaping mouth as he stared at the ghosts- at the _people_ dying in front of him.

He gasped brokenly when a gentle hand clasped his shoulder. It was the old man. His eyes were brown and kind and his hair was white and he looked just like Reginald, but he didn’t because he was smiling and Reginald would never-

“Klaus.” He spoke. His voice was a rumble, a gentle murmur that sounded nothing like the haunting wails he’s heard so many times (over and over and over). “It’s quite alright, Klaus.”  
Klaus was staring, quite impolitely he’s sure. Green eyes blurred with tears but he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t look at the massacre five feet away.

“I killed them.” He choked, throat spasming in pain. “I killed them all over again.” He finally tore his gaze and watched as a little girl, hardly over twelve, choked on water trapped in tiny lungs. (He’s seen her before. They used to play in the attic together. She was afraid of the bathtub, so afraid.) She was already writhing on the ground, but then her lifeless body slumped on the floor, eyes pried so wide, and Klaus had to bite down a sob, force down the bile in his stomach.

“No, Klaus.” The old man whispered. “You are simply learning.” He smiled, and gestured sadly to the dying forms of his ghostly companions. “We are just an unfortunate bump in the road.”

There were only a few left, two women and a young baby. The women had bruised throats and black eyes, gasped short breaths and clutched their ribs delicately. The baby wasn’t moving, and Klaus knew it hadn’t much longer.

“Wh-what do you mean?” He asked, eyes round.

The old man didn’t say anything else, though. He just closed his eyes with a soft smile, and Klaus watched as his breaths grew short and haggard, as the thin veins in the man’s aged forehead spasmed and grew blue, as the man’s knees buckled beneath him as he died.

Then Klaus was alone in his childhood bedroom, bodies of all ages littering the hardwood floor. Blood and bone and decay scenting the air like rust, tinny and powerful.

The lights were gone, and the moon was hidden, and his room was dark. His hands were knobby and skinny and they didn’t glow, so innocent it’s like they never had. But his eyes were green and wide and filled with tears, tears that stung his skin and burned when they reached the cuts on his cheeks, tears that he has been crying since the very first time he laid eyes on a ghost.

There were bodies on his floor but the voices in his ears were gone and the icy grip of his nightmare had faded into the seering warmth of _power_ (so sweet and strong, bending him, pulling him. It sang in his veins and hummed in his heart. He was strong, stronger now than he had ever been.)

His family was outside, he knew they were even without the pounding on the door. They were waiting for him to let them in, waiting for him to show his face so they could question him, yell at him, barrage him for being loud, for waking them from sleep, for being so _Klaus._

He was sitting in bed, so he dragged his feet to the floor. They were pale, so white they were obvious even in the dark.

He shuffled to the door, opened it with a half-hearted smile. (Dipped his chin, tilted his head. Charming and sweet and boyish, he knew. If not made irrelevant by the blood and the tears still rolling down damp cheeks.)

It was his siblings. It was Ben, and Diego, and Five. Allison and Luther and Vanya. (But not _him._ ) They were wide-eyed, bed heads and crumpled pajamas. Diego was in front, hands already reaching for his troubled brother.

“Klaus!” He whispered, loudly. “Are you a-a-alright?”

“We heard you screaming.” Allison said, leaning around Luther.

“We tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.” Number One said, eyes narrow. No doubt believing that Klaus had pulled a lock out of nowhere simply to frustrate him. (Wouldn’t be the first time.)

Klaus didn’t respond, and Diego shook the boy’s shoulders. He looked panicked, and so did Ben, silent behind the others.

Klaus bit his lip, winced at the iron tang, and glanced over his shoulder, back into his bedroom.

“Wha-” Diego cut off, fingers digging deep into Klaus’s shoulder blades. His was staring into the dark of the bedroom, brown eyes pointed tellingly at the floor.

“Oh, God.” Vanya choked, taking a hurried step back. Ben gasped, looking wildly between the bodies and his brother.

“...Shit.” Five cursed.

“Klaus, who are those people?” Luther questioned, positioning himself between Allison and her view of the dead ghosts. “Are they the ones who took us the other night? Did they come back?”

Klaus was shaking his head, but he didn’t even need to as Five interrupted; “There are children in there, Luther. They couldn’t have been the ones to do that to us.”

The boy had a frown etched into his face, but unlike the others, he didn’t look horrified or even surprised at the brutal murder scene in their own home. (As dark and broody as he ever was and ever will be.)

Diego turned back to his brother, who nodded at Five’s observation. Diego looked confused, a pained pinch in his brow.

“Then what the hell happened, Klaus?” Allison said, voice hushed and eyes blown wide.

Klaus looked back into his room, and he felt numb. Suddenly, he didn’t care about the ghosts, or his powers, or his siblings. He just wanted to go back to bed, and dream of Dave. He wanted to be free of the past, of their future. (He wanted to be where Dave is, he wanted release.)

He opened his mouth, to tell them that they were ghosts, that they were already dead. But when he opened his mouth, the only thing to come out was a weak gust of air. His throat was swollen, ripped to shreds by the force of his own screams.

Ben sighed, taking in the injuries apparent on his brother’s face. The days-old scratches, the tear tracks, his weak attempt at speech. He stepped forward, uncharacteristically shoving Luther out of the way so he could reach Klaus.

Ben grabbed his hand, and pulled him down the hall.

“You can tell us tomorrow.” He said, eyes front. “For now, you can sleep in my room.”

Tears welled in his eyes, and he rubbed them furiously with his free hand, nodding erratically as he stumbled after Ben.

The others stood frozen by his room, before Five quietly shut the door, leaving the ghosts to linger alone and hidden in the child’s bedroom.

“But-”

“Shut up, Luther.” Diego growled, and Five snorted.

They all left, dispersing to their own spaces. They left but Vanya stayed, lingering in the semi-lit hallway to stare curiously at the door, at the secrets locked behind it. (At the power she felt deep in her subconscious. Blue-white and powerful and lingering, screaming, begging for her.)

She took one last glance, and padded back to her own room, eyes white from the overhanging lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes  
> so as you can see i'm taking a weird approach to Klaus's powers lmao.   
> I am not very familiar with the comics, all I know is from what I've gathered from outside sources (sorry). I will be mixing and playing with everybody's specific powers but not too much that it seems out of their realm of possibility, I promise. I just kinda figured what with what Klaus already has, it wouldn't be that weird for a lil bit of necromancy to be thrown in the mix. (also don't get your hopes up, he isn't bringing Dave back to life, he would just die immediately again anyways) I also am gonna take a few inspirations from Robert Sheehan's character as Nathan Young from Misfits, as the two characters are already basically the same person lmao  
> also vanya wyd girl step away from the door


End file.
